


Faced with the Truth

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:25:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5046691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: prompt: root's goober faces are growing on shaw. shaw doesn't think she's being obvious about it until they're on a mission and the number (or number's associates?) notices and comments about shaw looking adoringly at root as root is cheerfully threatening them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faced with the Truth

“What do you have for us today, Harry?” Root asks, waltzing into the subway station with an affable flare. Shaw peers up from the ammunition she’s sorting through, one hand on the subway cart’s locker and one wrapped around a beretta nano clip. From where she stands, Root appears to be floating into the station, movements so fluid that only the bounce of her dark hair gives away the angelic illusion.

Harold swivels in his chair, eyes scanning her over as if it still surprises him to find her here, then turns back to his computer, fingers a blur as they race across the keyboard.

“As I was just telling Miss Shaw,” he replies, leaning back slightly as files pour onto his screen, “Our newest number is…” Shaw blocks him out, finishing finding what she needs before closing the locker door. Stuffing her weapon of choice into her waistband and another through the holder on her ankle, Shaw throws on her trench coat and heads towards her colleagues.

 _It’s a simple open-closed mission_ , Shaw thinks to herself, mulling over Harold’s previous overview.  _Some twenty-something year old idiot borrowed too much money from the wrong people, and then never payed it back._  Shaw meddles with the idea of letting the man’s pursuers dish a few good punches before stepping in-  _to at least teach him a lesson._

“…Shouldn’t a loan shark send their people out to get  _paid_ , not kill the person that owes them  _money_?” Root’s question cuts through Shaw’s occupied thoughts, and she pulls herself back into the conversation; all the while, leaning against the edge of the desk. Root has her elbows resting atop the desk, eyes devouring the screen; however, she breaks to give Shaw a small look.  _‘Welcome back to planet Earth’_  her gaze snickers, and Shaw scowls, anger coursing through her at being caught.

“In a perfect world, yes,” Harold responds, not seeming to notice the small interaction taking place just before him. “However, if the Machine has given us his number-”

“Than he’s going to be killed,” Root finishes, chipper smile on her face.

“ _Or_  kill someone,” Shaw adds in a blunt tone, and Root’s grin grows in eerie delight.

* * *

 

“Well, no matter the case,” Harold interjects with slightly uncomfortable undertones, “we need eyes on him. And-  _please_ ,” he adds, eyes traveling with a stern fire between the two. “Go about this with an air of  _caution_.”

“Oh,  _Harold_ ,” Root remarks with a condescending tone, slight pout on her lip. “As if  _we_  could be dangerous.” Harold’s eyes fold into slits at the sarcastic remark, lip twitching- itching to spit back a haughty reply. Instead, he fumes in silence. Root’s playful pout melts into a goofy smile, grin all the more lopsided as she tilts her head. At seeing the display, a warmness Shaw doesn’t quite understand eases its way into her muscles, loosening her taut jaw.

Root’s eyes flicker to Shaw, jolt with a fresh current of electricity, then slip away as she pushes up from the desk, heading for the exit. Shaw crosses her arms, watching Root go a moment, still unable to shake the feeling that wells up inside her, stretching its millions of small hands into all of her dark places and flicking on lights she didn’t know existed.

The feeling of being watched creeps to the front of Shaw’s mind, and her gaze Root’s way is broken. Panning down, her eyes stop on Harold, who watches her curiously. Shaw’s slight smile drops, then a wave of embarrassed dawning overcomes her. _I was smiling._  Scolding herself, Shaw stalks after Root, being sure to throw Harold a snide glare on her way.

___________\ If Your Number’s Up /___________

The breeze is biting as Root and Shaw head purposely for a hot drink stand at the corner. The smell of rich roast and warmth slowly envelops Shaw, and she checks her phone for the time.  _He should be here any minute_. Root peeks her head into the stand’s ordering window, elbows resting on the countertop as she peers about.

“Can I help you?” A plump man with a red nose and grey hair asks, kind smile on his face as he leans forward to see them both. Root purses her lips slightly, eyes narrowing as they focus on the scraggly font of the menu plastered to the wall behind him. Shaw steps up to Root’s side, a silent sigh escaping her as the stand shields her from the wind. Shaw scans the menu with a quick and absent mind before taking a scan of their surroundings.  _Not yet._

Looking over at Root, Shaw does an indiscreet double take. “I haven’t had a hot chocolate in a while,” Root comments, just loud enough for Shaw to hear, as she raises her eyebrows with the smallest nods of her head. Shaw doesn’t react, she merely lets Root think aloud. “ _Eh_ ,” Root says at last, taking her elbows from the table and looking to Shaw. “Harold has me hooked on tea anyway,” she tells her with the crinkle of her nose, then turns to the man behind the counter. “Sencha Green tea, please.” He grunts in comprehension, then all falls silent. Root’s eyes flicker over to Shaw a few times, a humored smile sliding onto her face with each fractional glance.

Growing flustered, Shaw throws her gaze towards the stand- only to find the man watching her with patient eyes and an amused grin. “Can I get you anything, Miss?” He asks her, and Shaw can feel heat rushing to her ears. And only a small fraction of it is from annoyance.

“Um- coffee,” she fumbles slightly, all the while keeping her face neutral- not daring allow herself another slip. “Black.” He nods, spinning around and grabbing to cups from a stack. Filling them with expert precision, he places the two steaming cups before them within the minute.

“You been together long?” He asks, snapping the lids onto the containers. Shaw’s blood runs cold. Out the corner of her eye, Shaw can see a robust grin break across Root’s face, and her heart gives a painful hiccup.

“We’re  _not_  a  _couple_ ,” Shaw seethes between clenched teeth, stealing the coffee off the counter with stiff movements. The man’s eyes widen slightly, cheeks turning pink as he gives an apologetic smile. Shaw merely slams a couple dollars before him, then wheels around, skin boiling with rage.

Head down, her shoulder checks into a man who stumbles to the side, gasping as his ankle rolls on the pavement. Turning her face to give him a vicious sneer, she stops- rolls her eyes. It’s none other than their number, Joey Marks.

Trying to simmer down, Shaw leans against the corner building’s wall, entire body bathed in the cool darkness of its shadow, and watches him as he approaches the stand. The man at the drink stand greets him with a friendly grin, not even asking for an order as he sets to starting the brew.  _How can anyone let themselves become so predictable?_ Shaw fumes to herself.  _Predictable gets you killed._

He leaves the stand, and Root immediately begins to follow five feet behind. As she passes, Shaw grudgingly steps in line, falling into sync with Root as they travel down the chilly street. She says nothing, won’t so much as glance at Root, just keeps her smoldering gaze straight ahead.

“ _Someone’s_  grumpier than usual,” Root coos, Shaw able to hear the smile oozing into her words.

“No sleep,” Shaw lies.

“ _Oh_?” Root responds, something like curiosity mounting in her voice.

“Bad mattress,” Shaw lies farther, wanting the conversation to end. She’d never been the talking type, and today isn’t the best day she’s ever had.

“You can feel free to give mine a try  _any_  time,” Root quips back suggestively, and Shaw closes her eyes; going from irritated to beyond done instantly. Her hands coil into fists; something burning hot begins to spill over her right hand’s fingers. Peering down, she sees that her fingernails have pierced her coffee cup, it’s contents trickling out and drizzling to the ground. Swearing, she tosses it in the nearest trashcan before shaking her hand out. Root smiles at her adoringly, which only makes Shaw want to wring her neck for the seventh time today.

In their own little bubble, they hadn’t realized Marks’s quickening pace, and how they subconsciously kept up with it. He halts mid-step, wheeling around with large, hostile eyes on the two women. They stop less that three feet away, sharing disgruntled looks.

“You’re following me,” he states flatly, holding his arms taut, muscles ready to spring out with a powerful punch if need be. “What do you want.”

“Warmer weather,” Root replies smartly, thoughtfulness overcoming her features. “A new car. And- what do you think, Sam- wanna win the lottery?” Root asks the question with such scripted sincerity that it pools at their feet, and Shaw can’t help the soft laugh that escapes her.

“You’re a  _real_  comedian,” Joey responds, green eyes narrowing with anger and suspicion. “What do you want  _with me_.”

“Just to protect you,” Root informs him with a simple shrug, and he raises an eyebrow.

“ _Protect_  me?” He scoffs. “From what? Who are you guys anyway; you got badges?”

“We’re not from the government,” Shaw mutters in agitation; he takes a step back.

“You both need to get away from me.”

“As much as I would  _love_  to let a couple of pushers kill you on your lunch break,” Root says with a carefree air that sends a chill down Shaw’s spine, “saving people is kind of what we do.” He opens and shuts his jaw, baffled and searching for words. He coughs, then puffs out his chest, trying his best to tower over them menacingly.

“I’m not asking you nicely  _again_ ,” he warns, “get the  _Hell_  away from me.” Root’s eyes narrow, head tilting to the right and hair spilling over her shoulder. Mock confusion consumes her face, and the sight leaves an alien flutter in Shaw’s chest. When Root turns to her, it only grows worse.

“I don’t remember him asking nicely,” Root says to her. “Do you?” Shaw shakes her head slowly, all the while her eyes never leave Root’s face. “I don’t remember him asking us to leave at all.”

“He didn’t even say please,” Shaw adds, and Root’s mouth turns up in a goofy grin.

“And you didn’t even say  _please_ ,” Root relays back to Marks, who stares at her crossly. “But, even if you  _had_  asked, you still have to listen to us.”

“Oh yeah?” Joey remarks sarcastically. “Why? Because the two of you are some sort of super heroes, right?”

A playful smirk tugs at the corner of Root’s mouth, eyes dark and dangerous like a summer tempest, and Shaw immediately gets swept away in them. “No,” Root answers, a haunting undercurrent swirling dangerously in her voice. “Because- if you get on our bad side- we’ll do  _much_  worse than kill you.” The threat brings a secretive smile to Shaw’s face, one that she doesn’t realize is showing. “We’re paid to start out on your side; that doesn’t mean it has to  _end_  that way.”

Joey’s eyes widen as he gulps down terror. With Root’s eyes all but boring into his soul, he diverts his own, wanting to focus anywhere else. His gaze stops on Shaw, where it turns from frightened to quizzical as he takes in her state.

“Uh… she okay?” He asks cautiously, partially curious but mostly wanting to relieve the pressure weighing down his shoulders. Shaw tenses, gaze snapping towards him as her eyes narrow the slightest bit.

“I’m fine. Why.”

He gives a shrug. “You just kinda… you had some mad puppy love eyes on that one.” Shaw rolls her tongue over her teeth furiously, body radiating hostility.

“I did  _not_ ,” she spits back defensively, straining to ignore Root’s amused countenance. The number becomes much more comfortable, no longer fearing for his safety as he plows into the argument.

“Oh c’ _mon_ ,” he remarks. “The  _smile_? The  _look_? I don’t think you blinked once.” Shaw opens her mouth to retort, but he continues along. “Threats freak me out, but hey, if that’s your guys’s thing, then-”

“Say  _anything_  else and I’ll shoot you,” Shaw snarls, head starting to throb. “Okay?” He clamps his mouth shut, but all elements of fear are gone from his eyes as he turns them back on Root.

“Your girlfriend always like this?” He asks, and Shaw feels her head explode.

“I’m not-”

“She didn’t get any  _sleep_  last night,” Root cuts her off, angling her head in Joey’s direction; Joey’s eyes widen, jaw unhinging the slightest bit. Shaw, seeing as she isn’t going to get better footing in the situation, decides to avoid it completely.

“Can we go somewhere that  _isn’t_ so open?” She asks, and Joey gives her a suspicious one-over.

“ _Hey_ ,” he responds, thick accent reminding her unmistakably of Fusco. “Just cause we had a conversation doesn’t mean I’m going  _anywhere_  with either of you. Nice try.”

Just then, Shaw notices three burly men in dark clothing heading their way on the other side of the street. Large sunglasses shade their eyes, and their bald heads glint against the sun. One of them scans their way, and he elbows the guy next to him, nodding at Marks. The other two turn, say something, then all begin to pick their way around cars towards them.

“We have company,” Shaw murmurs to Root, who’s pleasurable smile vanishes instantly. Seeing no better option, Root grabs onto Joey’s forearm, ready to pull him along. However, at the touch, Joey clamps his free hand over Root’s wrist, hand engulfing it as if it were a twig he’s seconds away from snapping. Shaw pushes her way between them at once, jabbing Marks in the side. He wheezes, grip releasing just enough for Shaw to yank his hand away, bending his entire arm at an awkward and painful angle.

“Let’s go,” she commands as he spasms in pain. She tugs at him, and he stumbles along, unable to resist without sending fire through his bones. From the corner of her eye, Shaw catches Root’s affectionate grin on her and feels her face heat up the slightest bit. _What the hell has gotten into me?_  She asks herself, wishing that she could just knock it out of her head or her heart or wherever it is coming from. She picks up her pace and Joey grunts, hunching over and walking sideways to keep the agony from becoming explosive.

“So you’re one of those protective types, huh?” He asks in strained gasps, trying to relieve the pressure of the situation. Instead, he pours kerosine on a bonfire. Flames leap into Shaw’s eyes and smoke billows from her ears as she twists his arm harder. Bones grind. “Ah  _ah_! Okay! Okay,  _forget_  I said  _anything_!” He winces, but Shaw doesn’t lessen her grip. Instead, she starts to wonder if maybe the threat to his safety has shifted from the loan sharks to the handgun in her waistband.

__________\ We’ll Find You /___________

Joey Marks shrieks like a six year old in a haunted house as a body drops before him, blood spraying across his cheek and pooling over his dress shoes.

“It’ll come out,” Shaw tells him in a flat tone, watching as he gapes down at his shoes in horror, still too shocked to move away from the large man laying on the ground. “Probably.” Root’s laugh rumbles out like a purr from just behind her, but Shaw doesn’t turn around. Since Marks’s comment earlier, Shaw hadn’t so much as breathed in Root’s direction. Still, it didn’t keep Root from trying to crawl under her skin.

Joey’s face turns ashen, his knees caving the smallest bit. “M- my wife,” he gasps out, horror echoing in his bones. “Do you think anyone’s after her?”

“Not really our problem,” Shaw responds, wanting nothing more than to get away. The mission’s over, and shooting a couple of rounds to blow off the day’s steam grows ever more tantalizing. His eyes widen, and- after a moment’s hesitation- he leaps over the loan shark’s goon, latching onto her wrist.

“Please,” he begs, eyes pleading. “She’s only a few blocks away.  _Please_.”

“Last time I checked you couldn’t wait to get  _rid_  of us,” Root comments, an amused smugness in her voice. Without looking, Shaw knows there is a smile on Root’s face. “Now you want us to stick around  _longer_?” Marks’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t admit defeat.

“Just ten more minutes. She’s not far away.” He looks pathetically into Shaw’s eyes, who doesn’t even start to cave under them. Instead, she holds a steady, harsh look the entire time. Seeing he’s getting nowhere, he throws all his attention at Root. After a minute or two, relief floods his face, and Shaw scowls. “Thank you,” he sighs gratefully, then scuttles down the sidewalk.

“You just  _had_  to play the good guy, didn’t you,” Shaw grumbles, grudgingly starting forward.

“ _Someone_  had to do it,” Root responds smartly; Shaw can feel Root’s eyes on the side of her face, yet refuses to look over. Instead, she allows the steady gaze to heat her cheeks to the point of frost-bitten pink before rushing ahead to catch up to the number.

 _What the Hell is wrong with her,_ Shaw seethes to herself, then scratches it.  _What the Hell is wrong with_ me _?_

Before she knows it, Joey is turning into one of the large, sleek buildings on the street, and Shaw quickly darts across the foot traffic. Narrowly missing a few passersby, Shaw makes it to the glass door, tearing it open. Seeing Root a few yards back, she debates upon waiting. The idea disintegrates almost instantly.

Stalking through the door, the sound of it slamming back into place brings her the slightest pang of guilt. It’s deep, almost far enough down to be unnoticed, but- at the same time- too deep to get rid of easily. She leans against the wall, putting on her most impatient front as Root briskly strides into the lobby. Root takes a few steps, stops, then peers around. She scans from right to left, eyes finally coming to a stop as they spot Shaw at the far left. The smallest ounce of concern washes from her chocolate eyes, replaced with glowing affection and a horribly concealed smile. Shaw can see the words ready to escape Root’s lips, and pushes from the wall, not wanting to know what they would be.

Shaw can hear the sharp click of Root’s heels half a step behind and closes her eyes, needing to clear her mind of Root and her eyes and her smile. She comes to the lobby desk, where Joey leans on his elbows, talking with animated enthusiasm to the short blonde on the other side. Her hazel eyes are large and amused, disbelieving smile on her face as she listens to him stutter out his thoughts.

“You don’t have to  _lie_  to have an excuse to see me,” she laughs adoringly. “You can just say it’s your lunch break.”

“But it’s  _not_!” He insists. Turning his gaze over, a lightbulb sparks in his eyes. “See- they helped me.  _They_  can tell you.” Her smile falls at seeing the two women standing a few feet away, brightness in her eyes turning to an icy cold glint as she studies them.

“Joey…” She starts in a slow, soft voice tinged in danger. “Who are  _they_ …”

“I’m Root,” Root answers in a spritely manner, kicking up the charm. “And this is Sam.”

“ _You_  can call me  _Shaw_ ,” Shaw corrects, shooting daggers Root’s way. It doesn’t ease the woman’s ill feelings.

“Debby,” she responds tightly. “Debby  _Marks_.” Root nods. Lips pursing in distaste, Debby Marks turns an accusatory eye back on her husband. “So you just ran around the city with the both of  _them_  all day?” She asks in a stiff manner, and his jaw loosens slightly.

“Oh,  _come_   _on_ ,” he responds, “that’s not-  _no_ \- I told you they  _helped_  me out.”

“I’m  _sure_ ,” Debby replies frostily, eyes narrowing. Shaw watches, humored for the first time today, as Joey’s blood runs cold, unsure how to dig himself out of the abyss he’s created. However, he doesn’t have to.

There is a rustling from Shaw’s side, then the sound of a handgun being broken down. Shaw, unable to help it, turns to see Root- gun in hand- with a smile on her face. It brings back a brief flash of their first string of encounters- an elaborate game of cat and mouse- and Shaw feels a microscopic shiver rattle her spine. Debby gasps from behind the counter, but Root ignores her, pulling out a small cloth that looks like it could fit in a glasses case.

“Listen, Mrs. Marks,” Root begins, kindness in her tone that makes the entire scene more terrifying. She brings her gaze down to the weapon, where she begins to clean it nonchalantly. “We shoot people for a living.  _Well_ ,” she corrects, tilting her head. “We  _save_  people for a living, it just usually involves a lot of firearms.” Her eyes flicker with a wicked candle light that- no matter how hard Shaw wants to deny it- leaves a certain rush in her head. “So, whether you believe him or not, it’s true.” Shaking the rag out, Root stows it back in her jacket pocket. Taking the clip, she reloads the weapon. In the dead silence of the room, it mimics the sound of bones snapping, and Debby squeaks fearfully. “Any questions?” Root peers up to see Debby shaking her head fretfully  _‘no.’_ Allowing cocky satisfaction to spill from her eyes, Root stows the gun back in her waistline. Shaw can feel herself staring, and thinks about tearing her gaze away.

Debby Marks looks between Root’s coy smirk and Shaw’s more-or-less interested countenance directed Root’s way, and her uncomfortableness metabolizes mostly into curiosity. Leaning with the numb slowness of a daze, Debby comes in close to Joey’s ear. Says something Shaw can’t make out. He nods.

“I’d say so, but every time you ask 'em they say they aren’t.” Shaw’s eyes grow hard at once, attention dialing in with the force of a freight train on the Marks. Mrs. Marks gives her a contemplative look, while Joey raises his brows with eyes that say ’ _she asked what you think she asked_.’

Shaw’s jaw clenches, trigger finger itching for some action. Root, noticing it, directs a stunning smile Shaw’s way that- even though she doesn’t look Root’s way directly- doesn’t cease to blind her. For the moment, warmth floods her frozen system, but it’s only a moment. As the couple go back and forth silently a minute more, casting glances their way every few seconds, Shaw becomes red hot with rage.

Before she knows it, her hands are clenching into fists and she’s taking a step forward; her teeth grind against each other and-

A hand presses against the center of her back. It’s like a kill switch, as every thought and action Shaw had had stops in its tracks, leaving her without control of her own body. The palm pushes in, guiding her forward, fingers stretching out and causing Shaw to tingle in all the places.

 _It’s Root_. The thought finally makes its way through Shaw’s barricaded brain, Root bringing herself to Shaw’s side just as it emerges. Now, her entire arm is against Shaw, Shaw’s shoulder held against the lowest part of Root’s as Root steers her out of the lobby.

Part of Shaw wants to push away- to be able to breathe again, find her previous thoughts, and act upon them. Part of Shaw wants to stay exactly where she is- to let Root take her, not caring where or why or how.

“I think we’re done here, Sweetie,” Root says to her, voice doting but layered as if she’s talking a serial killer down from murder. _Was I going to kill them?_  Shaw can barely think about anything that happened more than a few seconds back.

“See! Like I said!” Joey’s voice drifts to her from behind. “She wouldn’t call her ’ _Sweetie_ ’ if they weren’t together,  _right_?!” Shaw’s mind snaps to instantly, ice water poured over her dream-like state. Her teeth grit.  _Oh yeah_ , she fumes to herself, eyes becoming ice.  _I_  was  _going to kill them_.


End file.
